


Love Potion No. 9

by shnuffeluv



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Romance, I Tried, I'm Bad At Tagging, Literally nothing changes except magic is a common thing, Magic-Users, Manipulation, Molly is a Clever Goldfish, Molly's a pathologist after all, Mycroft is a Softie, No Sex, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, love potions, some gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5794837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is secretly a softie and Molly's a clever goldfish. When Molly makes a love potion and casts it remotely on Mycroft, things don't go quite as expected. Not that it'll stop Molly from getting to know the Ice Man better, but Mycroft isn't exactly fond of being hexed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Molly sat at her kitchen table, humming a small tune to herself. Today was her lucky day. She had managed to pay off Sherlock for a lock of Mycroft’s hair for what she had told him was a hex. Sherlock, all too eager to please, got her the hair as quickly as possible. And now Molly had the human piece she needed for her spells to work.

As long as anyone could remember, Molly had been magically savvy. The only drawback anyone could find to her powers was that she needed a piece of a human or animal to get her spells and hexes to work. Most of the time she could use fingernails, hair, and other things she could slip out of the morgue unnoticed from any person she came across, and Toby during shedding season was heaven-sent. But she wanted no option for failure, and in order for that to happen, she would need a piece of the person she wanted to cast the spell on. Or, in this case, use the potion on.

Molly was tired of waiting for Sherlock’s brother to notice her, and she was going to take things in her own hands, using her penchant for magic. Everything she needed was on the table, including a little doll that she was going to experiment with, and see if she could use the potion remotely. She’d never tried it before, but Meena said it would work. Molly wrapped Mycroft’s hair around the doll’s head and gave it a little kiss. “You will be mine, Mycroft Holmes,” she whispered.

Carefully, the ingredients for the love potion went into one of her pots, which she put on the stove to simmer. Once the water started to boil Molly turned down the heat, and gave the potion an experimental stir and a lick. It tasted like strawberries. Fantastic. That meant it was working. She grabbed the doll and let it fall in, watching it float on the surface of the pot. She set the timer for 5 minutes, when she’d fish it out. A knock sounded on her door, and thankfully it was only Sherlock. “How’s that hex going?” he asked.

Molly bit her lip. “About that, it’s not so much a hex as it is a potion. Still, I’ll let you see it if you want.”

Sherlock nodded and Molly let him in, closing the door behind them. Molly’s heart thudded in her chest. Could Sherlock tell what a love potion looked like? She hoped not. He knew all sorts of curses and spells to make lust, but potions weren’t his strong suit. Especially not differentiating them. When she caught up to him in the kitchen, he just grinned at her. “Trying a remote casting?”

“Yeah,” Molly said.

“Smart. Mycroft could catch you trying to slip him a potion a mile away.”

Molly smiled thinly and the timer went off. She fished the doll out and kissed it, making sure she was the one Mycroft fell for. Sherlock laughed. “Molly Hooper, you an evil, evil witch.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a witch,” she said. “There are plenty of those who are actually employed in those sorts of positions. I’m just--”

“Someone who steals body parts from the morgue to not only fuel my experiments but to fuel your spells?”

Molly sighed. “Okay, so maybe I’m a hobbyist.”

Sherlock grinned. “So, what was that potion, anyway?”

“It was...uh...it’s sort of embarrassing to say…”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up at the possibilities. “No need. I can find out when I talk to him next. I’ll be in the morgue tomorrow, I need to test some hexes on thumbs, all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Molly said, as Sherlock left without another word.

Molly bit her lip. She wasn’t sure what she was scared of more: the potion working, or backfiring. Molly went to clean the pot and pick up the ingredients just in case someone raided her house and knew what the combination meant. Her heart was thudding out of her chest as she took a shower and changed into a nightie. As she laid down in her bed and closed her eyes, she envisioned positive energy enveloping her and protecting her for just a little while, just until she knew if the potion worked or not.


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft woke up on the plane ride home in confusion. Something had caused him to wake up besides the co-pilot heading to the bathroom. He checked his phone. No new messages. No e-mails, not even a phone call. What happened?!

“We’ll be landing shortly, sir,” Anthea said across the aisle from him.

He hummed and looked around warily. “Anthea, do you notice anything...different?”

“No, sir. Seems business as usual to me,” she shrugged. “Why, what’s bothering you?”

“I can’t put my finger on it…” Mycroft said. “But something’s different. Not...wrong different, necessarily, but...different.”

Anthea gave her boss a wary smile. “Sorry, sir. I don’t feel any sort of magic outside the normal. It’s just you.”

Mycroft turned to the window, disturbed. What happened? He usually didn’t just imagine something changing, certainly not to the point of waking himself up over it. What did he dream about, anyway?

...Wait. That was it. He was dreaming of Molly Hooper. Why was he dreaming of Molly? He didn’t know, but that was what happened. He was startled awake because he suddenly started dreaming of Molly, approaching him in his office, leaning in and kissing him. It had come out of nowhere, and he was so confused he forced himself awake. That would also explain the hammering heart in his chest. Though why his heart would be hammering from that sort of thing, he had no idea.

He pulled out his phone and his fingers flew across the screen, queueing up video feed of Molly Hooper in an effort to find out why he’d been dreaming of her. All he saw was what he presumed was her cleaning up after dinner and going to bed. And there had been no notifications about her. She had just...popped into Mycroft’s mind. Like magic. “Anthea?” he asked.

“Yes, sir?” she responded, pausing in her typing. “Did you notice any fluctuation in magic on the plane at all? Including when I was asleep?”

“There was a small adjustment a little before you woke up, probably the pilot casting a luck spell on the game of poker he has going. Why?”

“I think I might be getting sensitive to that sort of thing. I got the strangest dream which woke me up…” he laughed. “Or maybe I’m just imagining things.”

“Probably, sir. You did have quite a bit to drink after the meeting.”

“I didn’t drink that much,” he defended.

“Of course not, sir,” Anthea laughed. “Of course not.”

* * *

 

_ “How can I help you, Mr. Holmes?” Molly asked, smiling brightly at him. _

_ Mycroft cleared his throat awkwardly. “You can call me Mycroft, Dr. Hooper,” he said, thankfully without a stutter. _

_ “Only if you call me Molly,” Molly grinned. _

_ “Molly, then,” Mycroft said awkwardly. “I was wondering if perhaps we could talk about my brother’s frequent visits to your morgue over coffee?” _

_ “Is that all?” Molly asked, the picture of disappointment. _

_ “Were you hoping for something else, perhaps?” Mycroft asked. _

_ Molly smirked and walked slowly up to Mycroft. “I was kind of hoping for a date,” she whispered into his ear. _

_ His heart was pounding. Why was his heart pounding?! “A-a date?” and there was his stutter acting up! _

_ Molly nodded. “Why, do you not feel the same?” she asked, concerned. _

_ “No! I mean...yes...um...hang on, let m-me think th-this through…” Real smooth, Holmes! _

_ Molly laughed and kissed Mycroft lightly on the cheek. “Coffee would be lovely, even if it’s just about your brother,” she says softly. _

Mycroft bolts upright in bed. He has a problem. He definitely has a problem. And that problem has an irritating component: he doesn’t know why this started. He doesn’t know  _ how _ it started. He didn’t know how to  _ reverse _ whatever’s started. He sighed and leaned back. Molly Hooper...why, out of all people, her? He shifted onto his side and reached around for his phone, ordering surveillance on her be increased. Maybe he’d find his answer that way. And if he didn’t...he hated himself for saying this...he’d at least get to see the woman of his literal and confusing dreams.

“Love potion…” he muttered to himself. That’s what it felt like. But it couldn’t be. He hadn’t had any of his drinks spiked in weeks, unless…“Sherlock!” he screamed, bolting up again. He dialed Sherlock’s number quickly.

“Hello, brother dear. Dare I ask why you’re calling at 2 AM?”

“What did you spike my tea with?!” he growled.

“I didn’t spike your tea with anything, brother dear,” Sherlock gloated.

“But you know who did?”

“No one spiked your tea.”

“Then how do you explain why I’m suffering the effects of some sort of love potion?!”

The line went suspiciously silent. “Well?!”

“...Oh my gosh.”

“What?!”

“Oh my gosh. She didn’t!” Sherlock laughed.

“Sherlock, you are testing my patience,” Mycroft threatened.

“It’s nothing,” Sherlock snickered. “A...friend was testing potions’ effects from a distance, and she used you.”

“‘She’?”

“That’s the most you’re getting out of me, brother dear,” Sherlock laughed. “Laters!”

Sherlock hung up. Mycroft cursed and tried to get some Molly-free sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

“Molly Hooper, you are evil!” Sherlock said the next morning at the morgue.

“So you know, then?” she asked sheepishly. “The love potion?”

Sherlock nodded. “Mycroft called me at 2 this morning, accusing me of spiking his tea. I didn’t tell on you, of course.”

Molly sighed at that. “Thank you.”

“Of course, you do realize that if he finds out you used a love potion on him, he’ll kill you. And I’m not sure if that’s an exaggeration.” Sherlock grinned, “But you are evil and I love you. Platonically, of course.”

“Of course,” Molly parroted. “D’you think he would really kill me?”

“Oh yeah,” Sherlock said. “Now, he probably just thinks that because love is a pretty foreign concept to him. Let it continue for a while, it’ll feel natural to him, and he’ll think he just overreacted when this just started. The odds are less towards him killing you then.”

“So...leave him be for a week, then call him for something about you, maybe?” she offered.

“Sounds about right,” Sherlock nodded. “And if he engages you first, let me know. I want blackmail material.”

Molly laughed. “Sure.”

“One question, Molly,” Sherlock said. “Do you love him?”

Molly blushed. “Well, that’s personal. I don’t know. I love the idea of him, because I imagine he’s basically you with manners,” she joked. “But, as for the actual man...I wouldn’t know until I got to meet up with him a few times.”

Sherlock frowned. “My brother...is sensitive. He doesn’t let people in, so when someone forces their way in, they can really hurt him. And if you hurt him, I’ll hurt you. Understand?”

“Relax, Sherlock. I’m not doing this to stand him up or something. I genuinely want to talk to him for a bit. And since a love potion is the best way to achieve that…” she shrugged. “It’ll wear off in a month, don’t worry.”

Sherlock nodded, albeit uneasily. “You sure?”

“Of course. When it comes to potions and magic in general, I’ve got a bit of a knack for estimating duration periods,” Molly smiled. “I’ll be kind to him, don’t worry.”

“I’ll worry if I want to worry!” Sherlock said indignantly.

Molly laughed. “Sherlock...just get your thumbs and feel free to go. There’s nothing to worry about here.”

Sherlock sighed, took the thumbs, and left. Molly shook her head fondly and got back to work, picturing how exactly her love potion was working.

* * *

 

Mycroft had found spare time in his schedule, but, rather than using it to get ahead in work, he was observing Molly on CCTV. He put his head in his hands. He didn’t like acting like this. But he couldn’t control himself. Which was perhaps the most disconcerting thing about this: he couldn’t control his actions anymore. He wanted to kill whoever made that remote potion that Sherlock was talking about. Anthea knocked on his door. “Sir? Are you all right?”

“I have a headache,” he grumbled. “I’ll be fine.”

Anthea came closer and lifted his head. “Your pupils are dilated,” she took his pulse. “And your heartbeat is really fast. Faster than I’ve felt it in ages. Either someone cast a spell on you, or you’re infatuated.”

“A little bit of both, I think,” he admitted. He turned the computer screen until Anthea could see. “Someone was experimenting with using potions remotely, and somehow I was elected to be a test subject. And Dr. Hooper here,” Mycroft sighed. “Seems to be the focus of an unfortunate love potion.”

Anthea laughed. “Sir, do you really believe that someone could remotely hex you without one of us noticing?”

Mycroft growled. “But that’s just it! That’s why this is so annoying!”

“Sir,” Anthea said softly. “Have you considered that this little...infatuation may have come about on its own?”

Mycroft scowled. “What?”

Anthea shrugged. “You have to admit, it’s a possibility.”

“No it isn’t!” Mycroft said petulantly. “It can’t have been!”

Anthea leveled him with a look. “Sir.”

“No.”

“But sir!”

“No!” Mycroft pounded a fist on the table. “If this were natural I wouldn’t be having...dreams,” he hissed. “I’ve never had those sorts of things before.”

Anthea clucked her tongue and laughed. “Oh, sir,” she chuckled. “You really are smitten.”

Mycroft looked down and scowled. “I still think I was hexed,” he grumbled.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft’s phone ringed at midnight the next week and he almost doesn’t answer it, but his heart skipped into overtime when he saw that it was Molly calling him. He answered immediately, cursing himself all the while for it. “Hello?” he said, all thoughts of sleep gone.

“Hi, Mr. Holmes, it’s Molly Hooper,” Molly said. “I’m not sure if you remember me, did I wake you up?”

“Huh? No, no you didn’t wake me up,” Mycroft said quickly. “I was up. And, uh, there’s no need to be so formal. You can call me Mycroft.”

He swore he could hear her smile. “Mycroft, then. I was wondering, Sherlock’s been coming in a lot lately, and I’m a bit worried about him. And you said I should let you know if I thought he was in danger, so...this is me telling you.”

“Yes, of course,” he yawned. “Sorry. Thank you, Dr. Hooper. It’s good of you to call. You’re very...what’s the word...sensitive, to this sort of thing. It’s good to have you looking out for him,” Mycroft could feel the blush rise in his cheeks. He hated this.

Molly laughed, and he was entranced. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Mycroft. Have a good night.”

“Dr. Hooper,” he said, and he dug his fingernails in his palms, knowing what he was going to say and hating that he was going to say it. “Perhaps we could discuss this at length tomorrow? I prefer to have details when I can.”

“Of course!” she said. “Sherlock’s lucky to have such a caring brother. I’ll call you!”

And when she hung up, Mycroft couldn’t help the stupid hopeful smile that split his face.

* * *

Her phone rang the next morning, and Molly smiled, letting it ring a little. She was brushing her teeth, and besides, she liked being the one who was sought after for once. When she did pick it up, she grinned. “I thought I said I was going to call you, Mycroft,” she teased.

“I know,” he said. “I just...it turns out something’s popped up at work. I’m going to be gone for a while, and I’m afraid we can’t meet after all.”

Molly’s heart sank. “Don’t worry about it, Mycroft. I’ll keep an eye on Sherlock for you.”

“I know. I just didn’t want to worry you if I didn’t answer my phone later today. I’ll be leaving soon.”

Molly smiled. From the sound of things, her potion had certainly worked. “Talk to you later, Mycroft?”

“I’m sure you will, given Sherlock’s track record,” Mycroft chuckled without humor. “Goodbye, Doctor Hooper.”

“Molly,” Molly said quickly. “If I get to call you Mycroft, you get to call me Molly.”

“Molly,” Mycroft said, obviously deep in thought. “Goodbye, Molly.”

“Goodbye, Mycroft,” Molly said, hanging up.

She squealed at her reflection in the mirror. It had definitely worked if Mycroft was calling her, even if it was just to say that he would be gone for a while. But, why was he going away? Why did he need to tell her? Was there something beyond the potion motivating him to tell her? Molly started to panic, and called Sherlock. “What do you want, Molly?” Sherlock asked after picking up.

“Your brother just told me he was going away for a while, with no explanation. Thoughts?”

She heard the shifting and creaking of furniture. “He didn’t say anything to me, and Mycroft  _ always _ tells me when he’s going away. Chances are he’s lying to you in order to distance himself.”

“Hm…” Molly said, thinking. “You don’t suppose…”

“Oh, no, the potion definitely worked. That would be why he’s keeping his distance.”

Molly frowned. “I don’t understand. Is he scared?”

“Most likely,” Sherlock said. Then, with an evil smirk lacing his voice, “Do you want to make him jealous?”

Molly laughed. “Maybe another time, Sherlock. I have work today.”

“Suit yourself,” Sherlock sighed.

Molly grinned. “Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, Sherlock.”

Molly hung up, got dressed, put her hair up, and went outside to hail a cab. She happened to look up just in time to see a CCTV camera pointed at her, and she remembered that Sherlock once said Mycroft could get into any feed without many problems. She shyly waved and giggled to herself.  _ What a ridiculous man... _ A cab pulled up to her and she got in. “Bart’s Hospital, please,” she said.

“Sure thing, lass,” the man said, pulling out into traffic.

Molly glance out the window. The cameras were definitely following her. She chuckled.

“What’s so funny, lass?” the man asked.

“There’s a man who fancies me,” she said. “And I might just fancy him back.”

“Oh, I know what that’s like,” the man laughed.

Molly hummed in pleasure. “It’s wonderful.”


	5. Chapter 5

Molly sung under her breath in the morgue, hands deep in blood and guts, ignoring but not oblivious to the security camera in the room. “ _ One...step...clo-ser...One...step...clo-ser... _ ”

She imagined that it was quite the sight, someone singing a love song while doing an autopsy. But she was in the mood that meant something nice had to happen, and if she were the cause of it, and if it was just her singing slightly off-key because “A Thousand Years” was hard to stay in one key for, well, all the better. It made her feel better, even if she was already in a good mood.

Sherlock swept into the morgue. “Good morning, Molly,” he said.

Molly looked up with a smile. “Morning, Sherlock,” she sung. “What can I do for you today?”

“I was hoping you’d rethink my offer earlier this morning,” Sherlock shrugged.

Molly bit her lip. “What, as in, us going on a date?”

Sherlock looked at her, then at the security camera in the corner, and smiled. “Precisely.”

Molly had to actively try not to laugh. “No, sorry Sherlock, but I have work.”

“You also have a lunch break.”

“I do,” Molly allowed, leaning back against the autopsy table. “But why would I spend it with you?”

“Because I have a degree in chemistry meaning I can cook surprisingly well, and I have a violin to serenade you with while we eat.”

Molly made a decidedly unladylike snort. “How long have you wanted to use that line on a girl?”

“Ages,” Sherlock unashamedly admitted. “Coming?”

Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. “Ah, what the heck. I’m coming.”

Sherlock grinned. “Excellent. Oh, and, all your clothes are machine washable, right?”

Molly narrowed her eyes. “Yes. Why?”

“Because sometimes my cooking isn’t as good as I claim it is.”

Molly laughed. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” she yelled in exasperation. “Why?”

“It makes you smile,” he looked at the camera again, still fixed on them. “And you have a wonderful smile.”

Molly blushed. “Much more of that and you’ll get in trouble.”

“I’m just glad you said yes to this little ‘date’” he winked at her and pointed to the camera, which had just now looked away.

Molly raised her eyebrows at Sherlock. “You’re being so mean to him,” she whispered. “It’s not his fault he’s being affected by a love potion!”

“No, it’s yours,” Sherlock agreed quietly.

Molly swallowed at the accusatory tone but kept her smile in place. “Come on, Sherlock. Help me out here and lunch might come sooner for both of us.”

Sherlock allowed himself to be used for doing the blood tests and running items to and from the morgue. Because when lunch came, he made sure to butter Molly up and make her say nice things to him, to agitate his brother more. They walked most of the way to Baker Street, both of them laughing at each other. Molly kept glancing at the cameras following them. Sherlock noticed. “Don’t mind my brother,” he said. “He just doesn’t like seeing anyone else happy.”

Molly frowned. “Now that’s unnecessarily mean.”

Sherlock shrugged. “It’s probably true.”

“Probably true and actually true are two different things Sherlock Holmes. Don’t forget that.”

Sherlock looked sufficiently chastised and Molly hailed a taxi the rest of the way to Baker Street.

* * *

Mycroft was furious, and he couldn’t even understand why. His hands shook, and ice covered the tips of his fingers at least a centimeter thick. He was watching the CCTV footage of Sherlock and Molly together, and he was incensed that Sherlock would say that he didn’t want to see anyone happy except for himself. He tried to calm himself down, after all, weather magic was some of the most temperamental magic to deal with, and no one needed to know that he could control it more than most, but it was useless.

But then.  _ But then _ . Molly came to his defence, telling Sherlock off when he crossed the line. Mycroft frowned. Was that Molly being a decent human being, or what? He would ask, but he didn’t want to seem like a creepy stalker. The ice melted away from Mycroft’s hands, and he shook the water into the trash. He continued to watch the two, all the way into Baker Street, where Sherlock let Molly sit in his chair as he made lunch. Sherlock was always good at domestic magic, and his dishes always revitalized and energized people. Molly was going to enjoy it.

He hated that. Stupid love potion.

“How long have you been cooking, Sherlock?” Molly asked.

“5 minutes,” Sherlock replied.

Molly laughed. “No, you idiot. I mean how long have you been in the habit of practicing the culinary arts?”

“Years. In my teens I found I had a savvy for domestic magic. Mycroft would always make fun of me for it, but I would practice every day once I found out. ‘Course, he needed to one-up me, so he found ways to do his chores quickly through little spells. Mummy wasn’t amused.”

Molly laughed hard at that. Mycroft was torn between killing Sherlock and letting him continue so he could hear that laugh again.

What was wrong with him?

Anthea walked in Mycroft’s office to a howling wind and Mycroft’s head firmly fixed to the desk. She rolled her eyes. “Sir. You have work to do.”

“I finished it already,” Mycroft brushed her off.

“Wow, love is quite the motivator,” Anthea said. “Are you feeling all right?”

Mycroft just pointed at his computer screen. Anthea inspected the scene of Sherlock and Molly sharing lunch together. She looked at her boss, then back at the screen. “Want me to kidnap her?” she asked.

Mycroft shook his head and the wind died down just a bit. “I told her I’d be going away for a while to give myself time to think, not to kidnap her hours later.”

“I know. That’s why I offered to do it for you.”

Mycroft looked up at her. “You do realize this has to be a hex, right? Since when have I ever obsessively watched live feeds of people I genuinely care about.”

“Well, there’s Sherlock, sir,” Anthea offered. “And I know you call your parents at least once a week when they’re not out of the country.”

“Your point?” Mycroft snapped.

“For you, sir, this is completely normal behavior when it comes to love.”

Mycroft wrinkled his nose. “I’ve been trained not to love people,” he scoffed.

Anthea smiled. “That’s not something you can train against, sir. You can make sure you don’t get attached to people too quickly, but you can’t stop love.”

“Or a hex,” Mycroft reminded her.

Anthea smiled. “I think it’s cute, sir. You, falling for someone. Just accept it. It’ll be easier for you.”

Mycroft grumbled.


	6. Chapter 6

Molly leaned back into Sherlock’s chair and laughed at him as he shared the horrors of having an older sibling. “He didn’t!” Molly crowed.

“He did! He poured instant noodles down the back of my shirt in revenge!” Sherlock said.

Molly laughed so hard she was crying. “I can’t believe it! Mycroft doesn’t seem like the type!”

Sherlock chuckled. “Well love will make you do crazy things, and hate even crazier.”

Molly was limp in the chair. She couldn’t even catch her plate when it started to fall. Fortunately, it was cleaned of any crumbs or sauce. Sherlock took it and put it in the kitchen to wash later, or more likely, to get John or Mrs. Hudson to was because the sink starts to overflow. “You probably should get back to work,” Sherlock said.

“I should,” Molly said reluctantly. “I rather enjoyed this,” she admitted.

Sherlock grinned. “Mycroft should be sufficiently jealous, now. It’s a good thing I took out the audio on his cameras in here last week.”

“Oh, I fixed that while you were out yesterday,” someone said from the doorway.

Molly stood up hastily at the sight of Mycroft’s PA. “Uh, hello...Anthea, right?”

Anthea smiled. “That’s me. Sherlock, do you always have to be a toddler? ‘If he wants something, I have to have it’?”

Molly giggled and Sherlock glared at her. She shrugged. “Well, she has a point. The whole idea behind this was to make your brother riled up.”

Anthea looked at her accusingly. “You know something?”

Molly shrugged. “That Sherlock hates his brother, and that I’m not about to pass up free food. Should I know something else?”

Sherlock glanced at Molly in surprise. She was a surprisingly natural liar.

Anthea narrowed her eyes. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to come with me. Mr. Holmes wanted to debrief you on possible security increases.”

Alarm bells rang in Molly’s head, and she bit her lip. “Does it have to be now? I need to get back to work.”

“I’m afraid it does,” Anthea says with a completely apologetic smile. “If it’s any consolation, you don’t have to go back to work for another hour, now.”

Molly shook her head. “And what if I refuse?”

“Well then I’ll have no choice but to take you by force,” Anthea said, raising her chin in challenge.

Molly had no doubt she would, either. “Well then, I accept your offer for a chat,” Molly said with a smile.

Sherlock snorted.

* * *

Once Molly and Anthea were both in a waiting black car outside, Anthea locked the doors. “Let’s talk,” she said. “Why would Mycroft Holmes have an interest in you, Dr. Hooper?”

Molly made a noise in the back of her throat. “Heck if I know. I said Sherlock was visiting the morgue a lot, he wanted to arrange a meeting, but this morning said he got called away. Is he interested in me?”

“Stop playing innocent, Dr. Hooper. You know more than you let on,” Anthea ordered.

Molly bit her lip and looked out the window, then back at Anthea. “Sherlock said he was under the influence of a potion,” Molly said slowly. “To be specific, a love potion. He didn’t say it outright, but it was heavily implied.”

“Did you give it to him?” Anthea asked.

Molly started. “Me?! I have a talent for magic, sure, but something about love potions...it’s too manipulative for my tastes.”

“But if you wanted to get to know someone better, what better way to grab their attention?” Anthea prodded.

Molly shook her head. “Is Mycroft in trouble for some reason? Is that why you’re treating me suspiciously? Because I’d never want to hurt him.”

Anthea frowned. “How do I believe you?”

“If you need that much proof, you don’t. But feel free to tell Mycroft he’s welcome to call me for coffee so we can discuss Sherlock whenever, love potion or not.”

She turned away, indicating that the conversation was over. Anthea sighed and signaled the driver to start the car. Molly expected to be taken to Bart’s, but was instead taken to a nondescript office building in the heart of London that she soon figured out was a government building.

Anthea led Molly through the halls completely at ease and always knowing where she was going while Molly’s head spun. When they finally started to slow down they approached a doorway that looked no different from any other with the nameplate  _ Holmes, Mycroft _ hung next to it. Anthea opened the door and walked quickly past reception, showing Molly into the office behind it. Molly swallowed thickly. “Mycroft?”


	7. Chapter 7

Mycroft was going to kill Anthea.

It wasn’t a question at all. It was a simple statement of how, and when. He specifically  _ did not _ want to be called out on his lying to Molly, and what does Anthea do? She brings the woman to his office! “Dr. Hooper, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked.

Anthea was out the door like a shot. Molly cleared his throat. “Um. I’m not sure, actually. Your assistant brought me here. Haven’t the faintest why.”

Mycroft traced a pattern on the desk and water pooled where his fingers touched. Molly gasped. “You’re a warlock?”

“Hm? Ah,” Mycroft said, observing the water. “Yes, I suppose. Everyone has the potential for magic, but few utilize it. I taught myself weather magic one long weekend, and I’ve had issues with it when my emotions run high ever since.”

“Sherlock said you were influenced by a love potion,” Molly said, sitting in one of the chairs across from Mycroft.

Mycroft flushed. “Just another reason to kill him,” he muttered.

“Oh, don’t do that,” Molly said. “I won’t tell anyone, and it’s not like anyone else would believe him.”

“Why do you?” Mycroft asked suspiciously. “You weren’t the one to give it to me, were you?”

Molly laughed, shaking her head. A nonverbal response that could be misconstrued as a no. “I choose to see the best in people, and that means I believe that underneath your cool exterior there’s a warm heart beating. Not scientifically, either. Emotionally.”

Mycroft blinked back his surprise. “Well, I suppose that’s how one would go out with a psychopath; I always wondered.”

Molly smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, well...I suppose it’s a curse as well as a blessing,” she allowed.

Mycroft seemed to zone out for a minute before snapping back to the present. “Ah, yeah, um…” his fingers started to wave in a pattern on their own and a small cloud formed under his hand.

Molly watched in fascination. “Weather magic is really interesting to me,” Molly said. “I guess it’s because I need organic material for my spells, but just waving your hands...it’s really cool. Could you explain how you learned it?”

Mycroft snapped back to the present. “I could try, but...well, the few times I’ve tried people have just given me blank stares,” he chuckled weakly.

Molly grinned. “Okay, I’ll admit, I probably wouldn’t understand half of what you would say, but I like the sound of your voice. And the fact that you don’t insult me. Sherlock’s fond of doing that. It’s nice and refreshing to have an insult-free conversation.”

“I imagine it would be. I don’t have much conversation to speak of ever outside work. I wear my voice into oblivion every day during work hours, though,” he chuckled.

“Do you want coffee? I mean, would you like to out for coffee with me?” Molly offered. “Some talk outside work.”

Molly saw how shocked Mycroft was by the proposal, and the way his lips parted a bit, just enough to think he might have started to say “yes” on instinct. He squinted at her. “No ulterior motives?”

“None. I’ll pay for my own drink, and we don’t even have to talk about Sherlock,” Molly chirped.

Again, those lips starting to form the affirmative before stopping. “I can’t,” he said. “Much as I’d like to, I can’t.”

Molly pouted. “Why not?”

“I’d be stringing you along. The only reason I feel anything to you is because of this love potion someone managed to spike me with, and I don’t know how or why. I might even be putting you in danger doing something like that, and I couldn’t allow you to get hurt because of something as inconsequential as coffee. And I’m sorry if I hurt you, but those are just the facts. I wish I didn’t have this stupid potion or hex or whatever it is affecting my decisions, because it would make everything so much easier. But that’s why I can’t.”

Molly sat completely still, like she’d been slapped. She nodded. “All right. I get it. You don’t want anything that won’t go anywhere.” Her eyes were glassy. “I’ll find my own way out, it can’t take too long.” She stood up and walked out calmly, and anyone who hadn’t been in the room would have sworn that she had just stubbed a toe or something that would hurt but wouldn’t matter in an hour.

Anthea saw her walking out and set her jaw. “Let me show you the way out, Dr. Hooper,” she said softly.

“I can find my own way,” Molly assured.

“You can, but I need to rant about that idiot, and I’m willing to listen to rants too,” she insisted.

“Really, I’m fine,” Molly’s voice broke a little at the end, and she cleared her throat. “I can find my way out. It hasn’t been that long that I’ve been in here, I can remember how to get out.”

Anthea sighed and nodded. “All right. Have a good one, Molly.”

Molly nodded and left. She didn’t see Anthea roll her eyes, or storm into Mycroft’s office to give him a piece of her mind.


	8. Chapter 8

“You’re an idiot!” Anthea yelled at Mycroft. “I walk the woman you like to your door, and what do you do,  _ sir _ ? You send her away, practically in tears! What is wrong with you?!”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Anthea. “Excuse me?”

“Go after her! Tell her you changed your mind! One date won’t kill either of you!”

“Clearly you forget our jobs,” Mycroft said pointedly.

Anthea waved him away. “You are an idiot. Pure and simple. I won’t back down from this, sir. You just hurt who might be your last chance at a nice woman who genuinely cares for you! Though it looks like you may have been doing her a favor.”

“Who gave you the right?” Mycroft growled. “My love life is my business! For all we know she could have hexed me! Are you seriously just going to allow that possible danger right into my safe space?! I won’t allow it!”

“She was crying when she left, Mycroft Holmes! That woman genuinely cares for you!”

“Well she was clearly hexed as well, then! There’s no other explanation! Someone is trying to give me a pressure point and I won’t allow it!”

Anthea snarled at him, “Well you can just die alone and be perfectly happy with that, can’t you?!”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I can!” Mycroft said. “Now why don’t you make me the happiest man alive and  _ leave!” _

“It’s your own grave you’re digging!” Anthea hissed as she left.

Mycroft used a gust of wind to shut the door behind her and ran a hand through his hair. Anthea had no right to do what she did to him. Having Molly in his office was...he didn’t have the words for it. What did he feel, exactly? Anger, to be certain. But love? Desire? Those sorts of things were foreign to him. In fact, Mycroft knew for a fact he was on the asexual spectrum, and his romantic orientation had never been strictly clear to him. Molly Hooper seemed to fit whatever his orientation was, however because...he liked her. A lot, apparently. Enough to yell at Anthea for bringing the poor woman in. Something hot crossed Mycroft’s cheeks in a vertical pattern and he realized he was crying, for reasons he couldn’t even understand. He growled and resolved to get back to work, but couldn’t focus enough to get anything done. His mind was on 10 different tracks and all of them wanted his full attention.

His head in his hands, he insisted to himself that he would get back to work.

And insisted.

And insisted.

Okay, he wasn’t going to do anything today. He was too distracted. But that didn’t stop him from trying, and it certainly didn’t stop him from avoiding Anthea. He pulled up CCTV and spied on Sherlock for a while, before changing the feed to John, and finally to Molly Hooper. She was, as Anthea had said, crying, and his heart twisted. But he couldn’t run back to her and say he’d changed his mind, that she was worth the risk. It really wasn’t, and he was still convinced that he was hexed. Because that potion  _ was _ a hex, for him. And he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting Molly over some stupid magic that would fade within the month. It wasn’t fair to her, and it wasn’t worth the blood on his hands for him.

Plus...well...he hadn’t dated in years. He wouldn’t know where to start. Holding hands? Watching movies? Even coffee was near-alien in comparison to what he had remembered dating to be, and he hadn’t cared much for it back then, so why would he now, when everything was more likely to be a whirlwind of emotions and hormones? It was unsavory at its worst. At its best, it was a stress-relieving distraction. And it certainly wasn’t worth it right now.

But if it wasn’t, then why was he watching feeds of Molly? He couldn’t control this part of himself, true, but surely he could try and curb the obsession? He closed the window of Molly and was back to watching John at his clinic. Yes. He could keep an eye on his little brother’s friends, excluding Molly.

...Even her name sent his heart skipping. What was he, a hormonal teenager?! He had better control of himself than this! He could prove it, too! He just didn’t quite know how, and didn’t believe himself in the slightest.

This was going to be a long month.


	9. Chapter 9

Molly noticed the lack of CCTV cameras following her and sighed sadly. Mycroft really meant it when he wasn’t going to pursue her, it seemed. Perhaps she should have used a voodoo doll on him, or hired a real witch to help her. She drummed her fingers against the taxi’s window and grit her teeth. She pulled out her phone and called Sherlock. “What happened? Please tell me you have blackmail!”

“It’s a no go, Sherlock,” Molly sighed. “He rejected me. I asked for coffee and I was ruthlessly shut down.”

“Oh.” There was a pregnant silence, with Molly hiccupping softly in between breaths. “What did he say?”

“He said he was only interested in me because of a hex, and that he wouldn’t be otherwise, so he didn’t want to string me along.”

Sherlock whistled. “Now that’s cruel, even for him.”

“No crap,” Molly said, blinking back more tears.

“I could give you an interesting murder case to look over? That always cheers me up.”

Molly laughed. “No thanks, Sherlock. It’s nice of you to offer, though.”

“...Want me to kill him?” Sherlock offered hopefully.

“Ha! No, that won’t be necessary, Sherlock. I’ll live on, you know? I don’t have to know everyone in my life really well, and it was more curiosity than anything else that drove me to try it. So...no biggie,” she sniffled.

She could practically hear Sherlock rolling his eyes. “Sure, Molly. While we’re at it, why don’t you say you hate me as well.”

Molly sighed. “Look, I like him, that doesn’t mean I won’t respect him saying no. I’ll be fine, really. Give me a few days and I’ll be back to normal. Bad taste in guys and all,” she joked.

“You had a crush on me.”

“I know,” Molly laughed.

Sherlock huffed indignantly. “I’ll have you know, Molly Hooper, my manners have significantly improved over the years.”

“I fear what you were like as a child then,” she giggled. “I just pulled up at work. Talk to you later?”

“Sure,” Sherlock said. “Later.”

Molly got out of the cab after paying and hung up. Sherlock had boosted her mood considerably, and she was now ready for a dull afternoon with death by natural causes on nearly all of her bodies. In fact, she was surprised it went that way. No surprises from Sherlock, no calls from Lestrade, no more abductions. It was...unsettling. She did all the paperwork for the day and walked out, playing with her hair. She was more than a little nervous now. It all seemed too quiet for her.

A quick glance around at the security cameras confirmed they were moving as they usually did. No one was watching. This felt  _ so _ safe...and yes, she was being sarcastic to herself. Images of men with knives and kidnappings and generally illegal happenings ran through Molly’s head as she scurried out into the open air outside the hospital. She felt exposed, and it wasn’t a good feeling.

“‘Scuse me,” a voice said from behind her.

Molly whirled around, reaching for her pepper spray. “Yeah?” she asked.

“Are you Dr. Hooper? Y-y-you did an autopsy on my b-brother,” the voice shook. It came from a man in a dirty hoodie, but she couldn’t say much else about him. She couldn’t see any of his face.

Molly tightened her grip on the pepper spray. “I do a lot of autopsies. Could I get his name?”

The man lunged for her wrist and Molly tried to pull away, but she wasn’t quick enough. He had it in a vice grip, and was dragging her into a nearby alley. Molly’s pepper spray was lying in the middle of the sidewalk, and no one was around to see what was going on. She struggled. “Now, now, sweetheart,” the man said in a much more malicious tone, pulling out a knife, “I would hate for you to get hurt.”

Molly stilled and allowed herself to be dragged to where an idling car seemed to be waiting for them, as when they got near, another man came out and gagged Molly, throwing her in the trunk.  _ Of course I’d be kidnapped the second no one is around to miss me, _ Molly thought bitterly.  _ Maybe at least they won’t kill me. _


End file.
